One good thing about being me is that I have no allergies. I've always felt bad for you poor schmucks who spend pollen season in a snotty haze. It is true that I have constant trouble breathing and often sneeze without provocation (the two are not related), but at least it's not allergies. That must suck.
Anyway, our sweet teacher insurance ends this month, so I thought I would go in and get my tonsils checked out (more on that later) and my nasal cavities looked at for polyps or misshapen bones or whatever might be causing my breathing problems.
Today I went in for a second appointment and had 102 holes stabbed in my arms (I was counting--and never mind if the doctor's records say 116) and learned I am allergic to all the weeds in the southwestern United States, all the grasses in the southwestern United States, most molds, three of the five tree families in the southwestern United States (including a severe allergy to oaks--POP QUIZ: Guess what tree my hometown is widely known for?) and, get this, cats--POP QUIZ: Guess how many cats my family has owned in my lifetime?
One reason I had always known I wasn't allergic to anything was this: my symptoms were constant--I didn't react to, say, driving past a field of alfalfa POP QUIZ: What crop colored the hills at my granpa's ranch?, so I obviously wasn't allergic. Simple. It's either that or I'm allergic to everything, haha! and I'm not allergic to everything, haha!
So now that I've learned that I am one of the miserable, allergic schmucks aforementioned, I have to decide how much I care. It's taken me this long to even bother to ask a doctor about my nose, and if I can survive twenty-nine years without antibody-building shots or daily Claritin, why should I start that hassle now?
I'm getting one prescription of drugs and we'll see if it makes enough of a difference to bother switching to an allergy-free lifestyle.
In the meantime, I still need to tell you about my tonsils. But first, please excuse me while I go shove this douche bag down my throat.